


Staying on Track

by Inzannatea (Zanna23)



Series: Phracking Inzane (PFF Series) [9]
Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Established Phrack, F/M, Phrack Fucking Friday, Porn in a Day, Porn without Sexwords, Smut, Trouser Snakes on a Train, Undercover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-05
Updated: 2018-05-05
Packaged: 2019-05-02 11:54:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14544183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zanna23/pseuds/Inzannatea
Summary: It's still technically Friday somewhere on the planet... so I suppose that counts?  In my long standing tradition of transportation porn, I give you trains. Will they do it in a train? Will they do it in a plane? Will they do it on a boat? Will they do it on a float(ing airship... bad rhyme)Thanks to FireSign for the locale idea.And thanks and curses to whopooh who... at the 11th hour, or probably more like the 7th hour, said, "do this challenge as well... write this as a PFF, but don't use and typical sex words!"  Oooookkayy...





	Staying on Track

**Author's Note:**

> The aliases Phryne and Jack choose are from Zane Gray's novel, _The U.P. Trail_

“Is this seat taken?” the familiar voice asked him. 

_ How?  _

That was a pointless question. She always figured it out. 

He looked up from his dining car menu, afraid to speak.  _ Was she going to blow his cover? _

He took a deep breath and decided it was easier to work with her than against her, she would just have to play along. She liked playing. 

“Ah… no, no… please… Mrs.?” he goaded her, tilting his head with slight smile and a wave of his hand at the empty seat across from him.

“Miss. Miss Allie Lee,” she offered him her hand.  _ Ah. Well, of course. _ Not only had she worked out where he was, likely what he was doing, but also what alias he’d chosen and from which source. 

“Warren Neale. Pleasure to meet you, Miss Lee,” he met her eyes meaningfully. 

“Likewise, Mr. Neale,” she smirked at him, “Any recommendations? Do you take this route often?”

“I’ve been this route a few times. The chicken is edible. Can’t say much for the mutton,” he offered.  _ Might as well confess. She was here now. She’d been trying to wheedle out the details of this assignment for weeks. Frankly, it’s like a break in the clouds to see her sitting here now. _ He was trying very hard not to stare. They weren’t supposed to know each other after all. “What brings you to Sydney, Miss Lee?”

“Returning to Sydney. I decided to drop in on an  _ old friend  _ in Melbourne,” she answered, eyes twinkling, “Besides, I find train travel so… stimulating.” 

She had evidently kicked off her shoe. He felt her toes making contact with his ankles. 

“Is that so?” he asked trying to turn his attention back to the menu. 

“Mmm… yes. I love to watch countryside as it slides by.” her foot slid up his calf.  “I love the vibrations of the track.” He felt her foot slide along his inner thigh. He’d been in a sort of trance, but he was realizing he was about to be in trouble. “I love the clackity-clack-clackity-clack rhythm of the train.”

He reached his hand to her foot and stopped it, massaging the ball of it as he did. He gave her a warning look, which she countered with a soft smile he’d come to recognize as a threat. 

The waiter’s appearance paused their little  tête à tête, or rather near pied à tête.  They ordered and resumed talking about nothing related to their real lives. “Mr. Neale” claimed to be in the agriculture business, while “Miss Lee” talked of parties in Sydney.  To anyone listening, the two sounded as if they’d just met. To anyone watching, it looked like love at first sight. 

Food and drinks arrived and they were deeply in conversation about commodities and the price of wool. 

“Tell me— Why must we stop in Albury, Mr. Neale? I’ve never been clear on that.”  she asked taking a bite of her chicken and leaning back in her chair. 

He looked at her suspiciously for a moment before answering.  _ What was her game? _ He felt sure this was something she knew, but at this point in the blossoming acquaintance of Mr. Neal and Miss Lee, he wasn’t about to scold her. 

“The rails in Victoria are thicker than the standard size in the rest of Australia,” he began. She continued to cut her food while giving the appearance of listening intently. 

He suddenly became aware of her game… both of her feet had found her way into his lap. 

He froze, hand on either side of his plate, his eyes met hers begging her to stop. 

“Do go on, Mr. Neale. It’s most interesting,” Her feet began massaging the insides of his thighs, bringing tension to the table rather than releasing it. “You were talking about the  _ thick _ rails of Victoria. I have found, in my time in your state, the thick rails do create a smooth and satisfying ride.”

He gripped the edges of the table, knuckles turning white as her nimble toes gripped and massaged his increasingly firm interest through his trousers. 

“Ah… yes…” he struggled to focus, “at Albury, we... will...uh… change to the smaller gauge rails... “   _ Jesus how was she doing this so vigourously whilst staying so still above the table. _ He had a fleeting memory of her mentioning learning to belly dance and how she could isolate her muuuuu…. _ oh God _ …

“Would you care to see the dessert menu?” the waiter cut in. 

“I believe I’ve had enough for now, but perhaps my new friend Mr. Neale here would like a sweet treat?”

It took several calming breaths to be able to speak, but finally he responded, “I believe that’s all thank you.”

“Oh, yes… one more thing if you don’t mind,” she addressed the waiter, “Mr. Neale mentioned an article on wool futures in today’s Argus that sounded fascinating. Could you bring us a copy?”

“Of course, Miss Lee,” the waiter responded with a curt bow. 

She pulled her feet away, and slipped on her shoes. Very quietly she said, “First class carriage, Compartment 4. 5 minutes. We’ll discuss…  _ futures.” _

 

* * *

 

* * *

  
  
  


There was a knock on her door.

She hadn’t been this excited to see him since London. She’d seen him a few times during this assignment, but not enough. She… well… she missed him.

She opened the door with flourish and a huge grin. 

“The newspaper you requested, missus,” a porter who was not Jack Robinson, nor his alter ego Warren Neale, held the Argus from earlier that morning for her inspection. Her grin faltered. 

“Oh… Thank you… Where is… my dinner companion, Mr. Neale?” She asked.

“I dunno, missus. Bossman jus’ told me to bring you this.”

“Very well,” she tipped the porter. “Wait a moment. Do you know where Mr. Neale’s compartment is?”

The porter shook his head but then paused for a moment, “Hold on a tick. That’s the wiry fella, with the nice hat? Been travelling back and forth with us for a few weeks? Yeah. Warren. Good bloke. He’s in 2nd class, 4th car… just past the mail car.”

She dropped a few more coins in his hand, “Thank you. THAT was tremendously helpful.”

  
  


* * *

  
  


She made her way from first class toward second.  _ Why had he not followed? Was this finally too far? They’d been together as… well… lovers? Sweethearts? Companions? Partners? All of the above? For almost a year. They hadn’t needed to define anything. _ When Jack told her he was being sent undercover and he’d be out of town days at a time for weeks, she’d been thrilled for the change in routine… at first. 

But she missed him. 

They didn’t live together, but since coming to their agreement, they spent more nights together than apart… and she missed him. 

He didn’t go out with her dancing all the time, but sometimes he would, and he’d always be there to hear her stories when she came back to him… except now… and she missed him. 

She had plenty of friends and her chosen family around her most of the time… but something was missing the past few weeks. The something missing was him.

She’d passed into the mail car and was reaching for the handle to exit to the gangway connector when she felt a large familiar hand on her hip. 

Warm breath tickled her ear, “Lose something, Miss Fisher?”  His voice was deep and dangerous. 

“Jack!” she turned in his arms, looping her arms around his neck, “there you are.”  She pulled him in for a deep kiss. 

“Phryne, what are you doing here?” he asked when she let him breathe again. 

“I… thought you might need my help.” 

“Why? Did you hear something?” He started to pull away. She held him firmly by the lapels. 

“No… Jack.. the truth is…” he eyed her cautiously, “The truth is I missed you terribly.” 

Jack blinked. “Oh.”

“This was ridiculous. I could have ruined weeks worth of work with this stunt. I’m sorry, Jack.”

That snapped him out of his daze. “What did I say about being remorseful,” he smiled at her and leaned forward to kiss her back.

They both kept falling deeper and deeper into the kiss. Phryne could feel Jack’s desire had returned with a vengeance. The deep and tender kisses became frenzied. 

“Come back to my compartment, Jack.”

His hands were pulling at her skirt. He nibbled kisses along her jaw. “No time,” he growled. 

“Mmm… Jack… anyone could come through... at any time,” despite her protests, a gush of desire and lust hit her with his growl. She wasn’t bothered by the semi-private liaison, but for Jack to be so desperate to have her that he’d risk it was enormously erotic. She reached for his trouser fastenings. 

“Hurry,” he pushed Phryne against the glass door of the mail car as he hiked her skirt above her hips. He moved her knickers out of the way with his fingertips and began probing.  She was more than ready for him. Her nimble little fingers had released him from his trousers and smalls. 

Phryne started to drop to her knees to take him into her mouth, “Not this time, love. I want to be in you. Turn around.”

She tilted her head with a smirk and presented her perfect derriere. 

The train continued on the clackity-clack-clackity-clack-clackity-clack track and Jack guided himself into her, pulling her hips to his with the same clackity-clack-clackity-clack rhythm. 

Phryne braced herself against the glass, her hands fulcrum to their coupling. 

Her earlier attention left him hanging on the edge. He was so close it was almost over before it began… but he was chasing her pleasure as well as his own. He reached around her waist as he pulled her in rhythm with the track. His fingers found their target and he worked circles and strums until he felt her bucking against him, muscles contracting around him as she shouted her release. The ripple of her pleasure released his own. 

He pulled away and cleaned himself with his handkerchief. She was still panting against the glass. 

Jack dropped to his knees and buried his face in her still trembling twitchet. He always had loved her unique taste. Mixed with his own, it was intoxicating. 

“Jack… Jack… wait… stop…”

“Hmm?” 

“Come back to my compartment,” she insisted turning toward him, “I want you for the rest of… well… I want you.” 

“I would like your help on the case,” Jack said standing and tucking himself back in his trousers. 

“I had hoped to be more than just a distraction.” 

He pulled her in for a kiss, “Not only are you more than just a distraction, you keep things...me... on the right track… and I suspect we’ll have this solved and be home in no time.”

”You're a charmer, Jack Robinson.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'd also like to add that the track gauge thing in Australia is totally true. In fact, it was much more interesting than the smut and sent me down a research rabbit hole (Which is how this ended up so last minute and probably full of typos.. feel free to let me know if you spot any O_o)


End file.
